


Power of Persuasion

by yuletide_archivist



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-11
Updated: 2007-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1625255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing Bond can't stand, it's not knowing all the answers, and that's the one thing that Villiers is betting on most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power of Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ashy and Brittany for minor beta help with this story.
> 
> Written for auntie_climatic

 

 

**One week earlier:**

Bond doesn't give him a second glance as he walks past the desk and tries the handle on the door, but when it's locked, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he turns around. "I need to see her."

"She's on a conference call, Bond, she asked not to be disturbed, I'm sorry." Villiers glances up from the file he's been working on all afternoon. "She should be done in a moment, I can take a message?"

"I don't want you to take a message, I want to _tell her_ something. Can't you break in and tell her I'm waiting?"

"Prime Minister," the younger man shrugs. "She told me not to let anyone in and she told me _you_ would be the one I had to work hardest to keep out. Sorry. What did you need to tell her?"

There's a moment of silence as James carefully eyes the man sitting at the desk, then he shakes his head. "Nevermind. Well, you could leave her a note, actually," he leans against the edge of the desk as Villiers picks up a pen. "Tell her that double-oh-seven thinks that we should look into bringing Moneypenny back, because she was a lot easier to seduce than I am." His lips twitch into a smirk and then he pats the desk. "I'll be back in an hour," he comments, ignoring the glare that gets him from the secretary. "If she's not off the phone, I'm finding a way to hack the line."

The scrap of pink paper is crunched up into a ball and promptly tossed into the wastebasket, as soon as the agent rounds the corner into the hall.

* * *

**Present day:**

"Just what in the bloody hell does he think he's doing?" M is standing over his shoulder, the room around him full of technology and agents working their best to coordinate this _operation_ , if it can even be called that. "I send him out, keep him close to home because the last time he went off to another country he nearly sparked a damn riot, and he..."

"...steals a car and interrogates a dirty agent within spitting distance of the Thames?"

"I told him to bring the man _in_ , not beat the living daylights out of him," M mutters something else at the end of that sentence under her breath. "Contact him and tell him I want to see him in my office when he gets back. _Before_ he kills the man, preferably."

"Right away," Villiers waits until she's left the room before he picks up the phone and punches in a number. It connects, and he can hear the various clicks and buzzes as the signal is transferred through filters and security, bouncing around until the ring. Once, then twice, then a third time.

_"What do you want."_

"M wants you to come home and bring your new plaything with you. And see you in her office as soon as you return." A pause. "She's not happy, double-oh-seven."

_"I wouldn't be happy either if one of my agents was selling secrets to another country," there's the sound of something solid connecting with something not so solid, and then a yelp of absolute pain filters across the line, distant and tinny. Almost like he's underwater._

Villiers cringes at the violence. "Before you kill him, preferably. Orders. Pack it up, Bond."

_"Fine."_

The call disconnects without another word from either party and Villiers replaces the handset on the cradle near the desk, before he goes about finishing what he has to do. It's not much, mindless paperwork and some forms for Accounting (for the vehicle Bond stole, and presumably destroyed in the process of getting said agent from point A to point B) and the like.

Some things never do change.

It's nearly three hours later when the door to M's office flies open. Villiers jerks his head up from the computer screen and takes in the look on Bond's face, and then notes the fact that he's sporting some rather unpleasant looking cuts and bruises as well. "...she didn't do that, did she?"

"Of course she did," James snaps, then rolls his eyes, before he rolls his neck around. "Call down to the range, I need it empty."

Villiers picks up the phone out of habit and begins to dial, before he pauses. "I'm not _your_ assistant, you know."

"You work for MI6."

"But I don't work for you."

"You..." James gives him a look and then throws his hands up, before he storms off and heads out of the small office, intent on going downstairs and spending the next several hours ignoring his phonecalls and requests to stop into the Accounting branch to fill out paperwork in favor of shooting his way through several dozen paper targets. Stress relief. If anyone wanted to stop him, then so be it. As long as they kept the loaded gun in mind, of course.

* * *

"You want me to do what?"

"Take the file," M hands it over to him. "Go downstairs, convince Bond to stop throwing his immature hissy fit like a four year old and have him sign the release document so that we can send Carson to the proper channel."

"You do know that he doesn't listen to a word I say, correct?" Villiers accepts the file folder and tucks it under his arm.

"I have faith in your persuasive abilities. All he needs to do is sign the form." M gives him a smile and then goes back to typing on her keyboard without another word. She doesn't need to dismiss him, because he turns neatly on his heel and makes his way downstairs.

The range is quiet (no muted gunshots or noise at all) and the lights are dark. Villiers peeks inside and then heads for the next logical place on the list, the weight room, but that too is quiet. He checks his watch and then wanders through the underground complex. A shooting range, the weight room, a sparring ring off in a corner. Lockers and showers. A parking garage. Perhaps he slipped out when nobody was paying attention. As he's about to give up he hears footsteps in the hall behind him and turns.

Ah, there he is. "Bond," he speaks up and waves the file just a bit. "M needs you to sign the release for Carson."

"And just why would I want to do that?" James arches an eyebrow as he asks the question, but his face remains blank, impassive. His arms are folded across his chest and in the low lighting he looks slightly threatening as he stands there. It's not that he means to look that way, but it's just who he is. Cold. Calculating. Shut off from the world. He's good at his job for a reason. (That makes him think of Vesper, of conversations about killing people and not being bothered. He didn't give a damn as he was slamming his fist into Carson's face and that fact doesn't bother him either.)

"She's your boss," Villiers just returns the stare. "I don't think it's a matter of wanting to do something when it's an order, James."

"Don't call me that." Something in his stare snaps and for a brief second there's something else in his eyes, and then it's gone, mask firmly back in place.

"Sorry," he holds the file out, and a pen. "Just the last page."

"So it's that easy, is it? Betray your country and your friends and get off on M's good graces just because of your service history?"

"She's not letting him go."

"Did you read the paperwork? Release document. Means they're going to bundle him up and ship him off to some icebox in the middle of Siberia to do work ten years beneath his level, because instead of throwing him in with the wolves where he belongs." James shakes his head. "She just doesn't _get it_ , does she."

"I think she does, double-oh-seven," Villiers tries to think for a moment on just how this is going to work, and as he's in the midst of thinking on that subject, James turns and walks away, heading down another corridor and slamming a door open in his wake. "For God's sake, we hired a toddler," he mutters, before he hurries after the older man. "You do realize if you _don't_ sign the paper she's going to stick _you_ at a desk for the rest of your career," he calls after the agent as he pushes the door open.

James is sitting on a bench in front of an open locker, and he tugs his cotton t-shirt up over his body to reveal skin that happens to be somehow free of obvious scars save a few picked up here and there. The dirty piece of laundry is tossed aside without a second glance.

"Bond, just sign the release and she'll stay off your case." The file is tossed onto the bench, landing a few inches from the discarded piece of clothing with a soft sound of paper hitting the plastic surface.

"She can stay _on_ my case all she damn well wants to," another shirt is removed and then yanked over his head. "She can send him off to the middle of nowhere with her name on the ticket for the aeroplane but I'm not touching it. I want him to pay for what he did."

"And sending him to God only knows where and stripping him of his status isn't enough?"

James stands up and slams the locker door shut. "Of course it's not enough, you bloody idiot." The words come out as a snarl as he turns to face Villiers. "I spend my time chasing down and getting a dirty agent to admit he's been selling secrets and we're just going to pack him up and ship him off to hide the problem. I spend my time, I shed my _blood_ to get this bastard to admit that he's a yellow bellied traitorous coward and we're just going to sweep him underneath the rug. I don't care _what_ she wants me to sign, but I'm not going to stand for a country or a government that thinks it's perfectly acceptable to just get over betrayal like someone got a spot of dirt on the carpet, and I'm _not_ going to put my name on the program that will just dust it away and pretend it never happened."

Villiers just stares at him for a long moment, file and release paperwork forgotten as he thinks over what the older man just said.

The silence and pause is long enough that James has time to pull on a clean linen shirt and begin to do up the buttons to the collar, and he glances over when he realizes that the man hasn't spoken in a moment or two and eyes the strange look on his face. "What?"

"You really did learn your lesson in Venice," Villiers speaks up, with a shrug. "We all doubted that you'd actually stick to it, to be honest. I'm impressed."

"Thank you for the boost to my ego," James retorts, then reaches for a tie from the inside of the locker, blue silk, nimble fingers moving to wrap the fabric around his neck and do the knot. "It's so very inspiring to know that people these days have faith in me." (Not like he honestly gives a damn.)

"More people have faith in you than you probably realize, what with that thick skull of yours and all." The younger man walks over and leans down to pick up the file from the bench, and he tucks it neatly underneath his arm.

"...what did you just say?"

Villiers can't hide the smirk on his face as he stands. "You heard me." James narrows his eyes. "I'm not your assistant."

"You're not an assistant, you're a bloody _secretary_."

"And you're a dinosaur. At least, according to M." Villiers chuckles quietly. "I'll tell her you won't sign off. Have a good evening, double-oh-seven."

When he walks away, he leaves a very confused James Bond sitting on the bench in the locker room in his wake.

* * *

The confusion is still eating at the edge of his mind a few hours later, when he gets into the Aston Martin and settles into the seat. If there was one thing that he could be assured of it was that Villiers was loyal to one person and one person only: M. Not him. Not any other member of MI6. One person. The confrontation (if you could consider it a confrontation) in the locker room had left him dumbfounded.

This did not make sense.

Which is why he programs an address into the navigation system panel and then follows the directions as he makes his way through London proper to a flat in Kilburn, and parks outside before he heads up in the lift and finds the proper door. His knock is sharp, yet not terribly urgent.

All the better, as the man who opens it looks rather confused. "...hell, something's blown up, hasn't it."

"Unfortunately, no," James cocks his head to the side. "Why didn't you fight me on the signature?"

Villiers raises a curious, unsure eyebrow at the inquiry. "You came all the way here to ask me about why I _kept_ from giving you a hard time?"

"I came here to ask you what changed that would cause a man who's always been loyal to his boss to suddenly be loyal to the one man who probably gets pleasure out of driving you mad," Bond keeps his hands at his sides, not wanting to cross them, not wanting to look threatening. All he wants is answers. (That's all he ever wants. Find the answers, find the man behind the mask, find the girl, get it all packaged up neatly and ship the paperwork for the damages off to accounting.)

"Well if I told you that..."

"You'd what."

"Your tone isn't making me any more excited about explaining..."

"I don't care what my tone is _doing_ in regards to you getting excited about anything." James resists the tug of a smirk that pulls at his lips as he narrows his eyes a bit instead. "What did she want you to do?"

"So anything anyone does has a motive?"

"There's always a motive. Always."

Villiers resists the urge to smile at the way the agent is practically pacing in the doorway. "Are you going to stand out there while we discuss government secrets in the hall or are you going to come in?"

James stops the pacing (he'll deny he was ever pacing at all if he's asked) and then looks at the other man for a long moment. "Why don't you just tell me, so that I can get on to my flat and you can go back to..." he motions a hand inside. "Whatever you were up to."

"Suit yourself."

"Wha--"

The words are cut off by a hand wrapping around a necktie, blue silk against pale fingers, by the tug of that hand to pull him closer and the sudden fact that there are lips on his that weren't there a moment ago. For the first two seconds he's shocked senseless, then he realizes that this is **Villiers** and more importantly, this is a **man** and if there is one thing James Bond knows for certain it is that he definitely enjoys kissing, definitely enjoys sex, but with **women**. Not with men. Not with male coworkers. Not with his boss' _secretary_ , for God's sake. And all of those thoughts flash through his mind in an instant, a heartbeat, an intake of breath before he pulls his head back quickly and stares.

"What the bloody hell was that?!"

"I hardly think you need me to tell you what that was, double-oh-seven," Villiers rolls his eyes. "Lord only knows how many times you've--"

James grabs the younger man by the collar and pulls him close. "I'm not a--"

"Never said you were," Villiers reaches up and removes the hand from his collar and fixes it. "You asked what I was up to, and I responded in kind."

"But you..." James stands there, slightly open mouthed with his eyes narrowed again as the wheels slowly click into place. "You stood up to M just so that I would wonder what was wrong with you and then you knew that I wouldn't be able to leave it alone...you planned for me to show up."

"I _hoped_ you would show up." There's a long moment of silence between the two of them, and then James reaches out and grabs him by the collar again and pulls him closer. "The fact that you did was luck."

"There's no such thing as luck."

"Funny that a man who plays cards would--"

James cuts him off with a tug of the collar and then kisses him, only this isn't a kiss that plays nice. This one is lips against his own, and it's not nearly as long or sort or thoughtful as the previous but it's all about control and who gets the last word. When it's Villiers that pulls back, he narrows his eyes. "Now what."

"I think I've proven my point."

"So there was a bloody _point_ now?"

Villiers laughs underneath his breath and then moves around James to open the front door. "I'll leave that to you to figure out on your own, Bond." He leans against the doorway and then he fixes his shirt collar again. "Have a pleasant evening."

James lightly presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, about to make a remark but he refrains and instead just reaches up and calmly adjusts his necktie as he nods and steps out of the doorway, and then he smiles and turns around. "One thing, quickly."

"Yes, double-oh-seven?"

"Perhaps...I was wrong to write you off so soon."

"Howso?"

James smirks. "Moneypenny was much more fun to seduce...but you actually respond better than she ever did." A polite nod. "Good evening, Villiers."

"Good evening, Bond," Villiers leans casually in the doorway and shoots a wink at the agent. "See you tomorrow."

"Yes...tomorrow."

Once the door closes, James stares at it for another moment before he smirks, somewhat amused, and then shakes his head and walks away.

MI6 had more secrets than he thought.

But it was Villiers, leaning against the closed doorframe, with the larger smirk on his face. Perhaps M was right. He _could_ be rather persuavsive when he wanted to be.

 


End file.
